


Out of the Frying Pan

by Shoulder_Devil



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/pseuds/Shoulder_Devil
Summary: Digging a grave by hand was backbreaking work, especially when one of those hands is injured.  Blood had started to seep through the bandages on Jonathan’s burned hand.  He was sure any skin that had healed in the last four days would peel off with the bandages the next time he changed them. If he lived long enough to ever do so.





	Out of the Frying Pan

**Author's Note:**

> This was my speculation for events directly following Daisy killing Mike Crew and Basira saving Jon from Daisy. Written after episode 91 and jossed by 92.

Digging a grave by hand was backbreaking work, especially when one of those hands is injured.  Blood had started to seep through the bandages on Jonathan’s burned hand.  He was sure any skin that had healed in the last four days would peel off with the bandages the next time he changed them. If he lived long enough to ever do so.

Daisy appraised the hip deep hole Jon had managed to carve from the earth. “I suppose that’ll do.”

Jon took the hand Basira offered and climbed out of the shallow grave.  The two of the bent down and rolled what was once Michael Crew into his final resting place. 

He felt like he should say something but he didn’t want to risk Daisy’s wrath.  Not that he had any idea what to say. He’d long ago given up on any kind of religion and, “Sorry I led a cop with a crazy vendetta to your front door,” wasn’t going to earn him any favors with his present company.  Jon settled for crouching down and gently closing Mike’s eyes.  There was no closing the third, red eye in the middle of his forehead though. 

Jon was nearly spent. Thankfully, pushing the heaped soil back into the ground was a much easier task.   As the dirt piled around Mike’s face, Jon thought for just a moment he saw a flash of light near where he knew the Lichtenberg scar to be. 

 _No, that’s absurd._ He paused his shoveling to have a proper look.  The light, if it had ever been there in the first place, was gone. 

“Why did you stop?” Daisy demanded.

“I- I thought…” Jon paused and shook his head, “it was nothing, a trick of the light.”

His hands were trembling now, from exhaustion or from shock was anyone’s guess.  Everything was starting to go a bit fuzzy.

Basira’s concerned voice cut through the haze, “Jon, your hand.”

He looked down to see the bandages on his palm were fully red now.  A smear of blood was coating the spade’s handle.  “Oh, sorry about that, I…” he began wiping the hem of his shirt on the handle distractedly.

Irritated, Daisy grabbed the shovel from Jon’s weak grip.  “Give it here.”

“There’s a first aid kit in her car.  I’ll be right back.” Basira shot a glance at Daisy, “Can I trust you to not kill him while I get it?”

“So long as he keeps his mouth shut.”

“Sit down Jon, you look like you’re about to pass out”

“I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Jon said ruefully

“What did I say about talking?”  the anger in Daisy’s voice was only matched by the intensity of her shoveling.

“Right,” Jon huffed under his breath as he collapsed against a tree. 

Basira wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes.  She came back holding a small first aid kit and some bottled water.  She handed Jon a water then began to dig around the kit for gauze and antibiotic cream. 

It wasn’t as bad as Jon had feared but it wasn’t good either. The flesh of his palm was all too reminiscent of some of the… meatier statements that had passed across his desk.  It didn’t seem to bother Basira though, and she made quick work of dressing the wound. 

Daisy finished soon after, kicking fallen leaves over the disturbed ground.  If he hadn’t been looking for it, Jon would have never known anything was under there. 

“Right, let’s go” Daisy gestured in the direction the car was parked and grabbed one of the water bottles.  Cracking the cap and taking a swig, she motioned again for the other two to proceed her.

The hike back to the car wasn’t long but the silence made the time drag.  Jon was sure he would catch a baton to the ribs were he to speak but there was no reason he could think of for Basira to hold her tongue.  The two women exchanged looks more than once and Jon noticed Basira doing her best to keep herself between him and Daisy.

“You can sit in the car but he goes back in the trunk.”

“Really, Daisy?” She scoffed, “He can ride with me, it’s fine.”

“Oh, no.  There’s no way I’m letting the two of you run off to do whatever he compels you to do.”

“I never-“ Jon started.

“Shut it!” Daisy cut him off.  “You can ride with me, or you can leave.  Honestly, I don’t care either way.”

“Fine,” Basira threw her hands up in exasperation, “if only to keep you from killing him the first chance you get.”

Daisy pulled out her keys and hit a couple of buttons on the fob. The locks clicked and the trunk lid popped open.  She gave Jon a shove between the shoulder blades, propelling him towards the back of the car then loaded the shovel into the back seat.

He begrudgingly climbed in, doing his best not to use his injured hand as he settled himself. 

“Right, hands behind your back.” The older woman said.

“What? Ow! Would you sto- _Ow!_ ” She had one arm wrenched sharply behind his back and was locking handcuffs tightly around his wrist.

 “This will be easier if you cooperate.”

“That’s what I’m _trying to-“_ Jon’s vision went white with pain and his scream cut him off as she dug her thumb into his newly bandaged hand.

“Daisy!” Basira shouted.

The detective clicked the bracelet around his other wrist and shoved his head down.  Jon barely registered the trunk lid closing.  His hand was in agony, it was as if he were shaking Jude Perry’s hand all over again. 

There was shouting coming from outside the car.  Basira was laying into Daisy for her casual cruelty, getting more frustrated as it became apparent that the older woman just didn’t care.  That part of her died long ago and she was in no hurry to get it back.   

“You’ve lost yourself, Daisy.  You are no more human than the creatures you hunt.”

“If that’s what I have to be to do my job, I’ll take it.”

There was a pause before Jon heard an exasperated sigh and the crunch of gravel underfoot.  The doors creaked open and he felt the weight of the car shift as the two women climbed in.  Both doors slammed closed with force fueled by their respective anger.

The pain in his hand was receding, allowing his accumulated aches to make their voices heard.  Of them, his shoulders were complaining the loudest, protesting both the manual labor as well as the position the cuffs had forced them at present.  The trunk was roomier now that he wasn’t sharing it, but there still wasn’t much he could do to get more comfortable.

Muffled voices filtered in from the cabin of the car as the engine fired up.  He thought he could make out something about Elias. They were talking in lower voices now and it was hard to be sure.   

He was not at all ready to return to the Archives.  If he’s learned anything in the last week it’s that he is woefully unprepared to go up against beings with that sort of power.  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. 

_Fool me three times…_

Going after Elias in, as Leitner put it, “his place of power,” is not something done lightly.  Running in half cocked would likely get them all killed. 

Daisy had alluded to meeting with Elias and to the powers he might have.  That is knowledge Jonathan desperately needs, he hungers for it. _Oh, that’s not good._ His mind casts back to both Jude and Mike “feeding” their respective patrons.

“No, get back on track,” he said, shaking his head.  “They need to know what they are walking into just as much as I do.  As much as Daisy might not like it, we need to _talk_ about this.”

Taking a deep breath, Jon started kicking on the roof of the trunk and shouted, “Hey! Hey, we need to talk! There are things you need--“ The car swerved violently, throwing Jon against the wheel well and cracking his head on the celing.

“If I have to pull this car over and gag you, I will.”

“Please! You don’t understa-“ The car swerved again, but this time Jon was ready and managed to brace himself a bit so he didn’t take quite the tumble. The radio clicked on and the volume turned up.

He tried shouting, but he couldn’t hear himself over the pounding speakers. 

He kicked the trunk wall in frustration. _Goddammit!_ _So much for reason. I suppose I should be ready for a beating whenever we arrive, wherever we arrive._

A few minutes later the volume lowered some but didn’t turn off. Deciding not to push his luck, Jon remained silent.  _I’ll have a few seconds when the trunk opens, I need to make them count._

_“The Institute is Elias’s seat of power.” No, I need something more concise._

_“He’s stronger here”. No, too vague._

_“The Institute gives him power.” That might work, or at least buy me a bit of time before she beats me ‘round the head.  Or breaks my ribs, or decides to take my voice box as a trophy…_

Suddenly, the car takes a sharp turn _.  What the hell, I didn’t-?_ Another swerve, he feels the rumble strip under the passenger’s side tires.  An impact shuddered along the vehicle and suddenly he’s back in Mike’s flat trapped and endlessly falling.

The sensation doesn’t last long and he’s slammed back against the back of the trunk. He might have blacked out but it’s hard to be sure.  He was more or less on his back, arms pinned painfully underneath him. The music had stopped.  Beams of light streamed in from where the trunk lid had warped.  Jonathan groaned and shifted his weight from off of his injured hand.

“Basira?” he coughs. A sharp pain shoots through his chest. “Daisy? What happened”

Pained moans drifted in from the front of the car.  He hoped he could make out two voices but focusing was so hard.  “What is going on? Somebody talk to me!” His _need_ bleeds into his voice.

“Car, a van maybe?” Basira groaned, “Clipped us and sent off the road.” She sounded about as confused as Jon felt.

_Sounds like it’s head trauma all around._

Jon twisted around so his feet were against the trunk lid and gave it a kick.  “Are you okay? How’s Daisy?”

“It doesn’t look like her air bags deployed, but she looks like she’s breathing.  I’m mostly fine but I think my arm might be broken. You?”

“I think I’ve got some cracked ribs likely at least a mild concussion.”

He kicked again at the trunk’s lid. Every kick on the trunk sent a shock of pain through his chest and head.  The lid may have warped, but the lock held.

“Jon, whatever hit us did it on purpose. We need to get out of here.  My door is wedged up against a tree but think I can climb out of the front windscreen.”

“Right,” Jon kicked the trunk one more time but it held firm. He sighed and let his head fall against the wheel well. He just needed to rest for a moment. 

At the sound of footsteps, his eyes flew open. He could still hear Basira moving around in the cab.  This was bad, it was very bad. Metal screeched on metal as whoever was on the other side attacked the lid with a crowbar. Crammed in the crumpled boot of a car, ribs cracked, and hands cuffed behind him, Jonathan did his best to ready himself for whatever was coming.

“Who’s out there?” the Archivist demanded

The metal sound abruptly stopped. “You shouldn’t do that” came a deep, cockney voice from one side of the car.

“It’s rude” the equally cockney man said on the opposite side. The prying metal resumed

“Oh, god,” Jonathan breathed as the trunk popped open revealing two large, very intimidating men in overalls.

“Gag him.” A third unassuming voice commanded from somewhere out of sight.

One of the large men, Breekon maybe, dug a blue, paisley bandana from his back pocket.

Jon did his best to squeeze deeper into the car. _Goddamn handcuffs._ Leaning back, he kicked out at the two pairs reaching hands “Please, don’t. You don’t have to-“

Easily swatting away his feeble attacks, Hope grabbed the Archivist by the hair and held him while Breekon secured the gag in place.

“There now,”

                “that’s better.”

“Now then, Archivist.”

                “You have an appointment,”

“don’t want to be late.”

The words floated back and forth between Breakon and Hope in an almost hypnotic cadence. It would be relaxing if it wasn’t so unsettling.

Jon huffed a noise of displeasure through the gag and pulled at the cuffs holding his arms behind his back. He was acutely aware the keys were somewhere up front with Daisy.

There was a noise from the front of the car as Basira emerged onto the hood. Jon tried to yell at her to run but all that made it out was a muffled mash of vowels.

“Let him go!” she shouted.  She had a broken tree branch held awkwardly in front of her as a cudgel. 

 _Oh god, she’s going to get herself killed._ He yelled again, in what he desperately hoped conveyed his desire for her to save herself.

“Well, well,”

                “well.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

                “Run along, miss.”

“No need to,”

                “poke your nose where it’s not wanted.”

Hope scooped up Jon as if he were a child, tossed him over his shoulder, and turned to leave. Pain blossomed in his side where his injured ribs met the larger man’s shoulder.  He locked eyes with the former police officer and desperately shook his head. 

_Please, don’t._

Ignoring him, she staggered over the ruined car toward his captors.  The improvised weapon held in one hand, she charged. Aiming low, she smashed the branch into the knees of the man holding Jon. Basira might as well have swung at a brick wall for all the reaction it garnered.  She took a step back and gathered herself to try again.

A sharp crack of gunfire cut through the air.  A splash of red appeared on Breekon’s arm.  Surprised, he stopped to examine the wound.  Daisy’s upper body had emerged from the ruined car. Blood matted the hair on her right temple and her eyes were unfocused.  She steadied herself to line up another shot and fired. 

Another patch of red appeared on Breekon, this time in the shoulder.

                “This is not a game you want to play.”

“You will lose.”

Jon was dropped unceremoniously to the ground as Hope turned to fully face Basira.  She swung again at the leg, attempting to unbalance him.  Hope caught the branch mid swing and wrenched it from her hand sending her reeling back a few steps.

The gun barked two more times.  From his vantage point, Jon was unable to tell if either shot found it’s mark. 

  
“I think that,”

                “is enough of that.”

Hope caught Basira by the underarms and threw her toward Daisy like a child at a swimming party.  She landed on the roof of the car, nearly on top of the detective.  In the chaos, Daisy lost the grip her gun and it dropped away to the side of the car. 

“If you know what’s good for you,”

                “you’ll stay down.”

Breekon hauled Jon to his feet and frog-marched him toward the embankment and the off-white Citroen C15 parked there.  He tripped in the underbrush and went down hard on one knee. The large man grabbed a fistful of Jon’s shirt and brought him back more or less to his feet.  He continued toward the van, half dragging the struggling Archivist behind him.

The back doors were open and waiting for them.  It wasn’t empty, a rough-hewn coffin wrapped in silver chain lay inside. 

_No, no, no, no, no…_

Jon’s eyes went wide and he renewed his struggling against the strong arms that held him.  He was bodily lifted and all but thrown in the back of that cursed van. He shifted as far away from the noticeably warm coffin as the space would allow. Both doors slammed closed, cutting off light and sound from the outside world.

 A scratching noise floated out of the darkness and the Archivist began to scream.

 

 

 


End file.
